keep_counting | Fic: The Long Road (Robin Hood BBC)

Title: The Long Road
Characters/Pairings: Guy/Marian, Ghislaine, Isabella, Robin, Sir Jasper, the Sheriff.
Rating R
Warnings: Spoilers for the entire series, descriptions of blood, emotional pain
Genre: Romance/Angst/Hurt-comfort. AU in the end
Word-count: 2,048
Disclaimer: If I owned Robin Hood, the show would have gone more like this
A/N: This one was a real pain to write, but I really wanted to. Not beta'ed, so sorry for any mistakes. Also, this is my 90th fic here on lj (counting +100 words only). I've been bored enough to count
Summary: Five times that Guy of Gisborne was a hero, and one time that really mattered.

ETA: The sequel to 'The Long Road' is now up; For the Better

The Long Road

"A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

First

Guy is seven and old enough to understand when someone is in pain. He’s heard enough screams, seen the blood and the writhing as his mother tried to ease her patient’s suffering. There are only so many places you can escape to in their house and none of them completely cover the moans of despair.

The bird’s wing is broken – that is a given, from the odd angle that it’s folded and it’s definitely not helping that the bird keeps moving it, as if testing to see if it could still fly every other second. Perhaps hoping that the pain would ease over time if it just kept trying.

It only takes a few moments, before he can’t stand to watch the bird like that anymore, and he quickly moves forward, scooping up the injured animal and gently cradling it in his arms, trying not to jolt the wing too much. He’s back home in a few minutes, ignoring the odd looks from the other villagers as he runs past them, flapping and terrified bird pressed against his chest.

“I’m not sure there’s much I can do for it,” His mother’s voice is warm and soft and apologetic, the worst combination. “It would probably be best if we…”

He may be just seven, but he still understands. There’s a long way between understanding and doing the deed though and in the end, it’s his mother that has to wring the neck, quickly and swiftly, her hand still bleeding from where the bird hacked at it with its beak.

“It’s for the better,” She assures him. “You did the right thing.”

oOo

Second

The sound of children’s voices fill the air, loud and shrill and Guy tries to ignore it as he walks home, mud splattering his boots and coat.

“Let go of me, you half-wit!”

Or, rather, he would have ignored it, if that hadn’t been his sister’s voice.

“What’s going on?” And it is a bit unclear. There are four un-washed boys, all of whom he recognizes but only one he can name, and Isabella, standing in the middle of a huge puddle of mud. One of the boys is holding his sister’s arm and Robin of Locksley has his hand extended towards her, beckoning gesture.

“I just told her to give me some of the bread in her bag!” He protests, gaze locking on Guy. “The farmer’s cat has got kittens and he says he’ll drown them, because he can’t afford to feed them.”

“Cats can find their own food!” Isabella shouts and then proceeds to call Robin something in French that is decidedly not nice. Said boys he folds his arm and glares at her.

“Let go of my sister,” Guy says before it can get more out of hand, lightly stepping forward. The fact that he’s older and several inches taller goes a long way and the boy holding his sister quickly lets her go. He’s rewarded with a load of hair being flung into his face, as Isabella haughtily turns, managing to look princess-like despite the surrounding mud.

“You’re just going to let the kittens die then?” Robin protests, stomping after Isabella. “You don’t care at all?”

“Leave my sister alone and stop harassing people for food!” Guy shouts, his voice booming through-out the village. He grabs Isabella’s arm and starts dragging her back to their house.

“You didn’t have to do that,” She mumbles. “I could have handled it.”

“No you couldn’t. You’re a girl!”

“Hey!” She protests, digging her feet into the ground. “That doesn’t mean…”

“Right,” He snaps, too tired to listen to her tirade. It’s starting to rain again and that is decidedly not helping his mood.

They pass through the village in silence, her small hand still in his broader one. She thanks him quietly just before they reach their front-door.

oOo

Third

Guy had expected a lot of things on his way back to Locksley for the first time since he was evicted from what used to be his home. He’d expected angry crowds, uninterested crowds, even angrier crowds and, oh yes, pitch-forks.

He hadn’t expected to see a rider-less horse run past him on the road, saddle looking like it could come lose any moment. He spurs his own horse and quickly catches up with the frightened animal. Up close he can see that it is a palace-horse, the Nottingham insignia burned into its flank, but it’s a side-saddle.

Oh great. Somewhere, some noble prissy snob must be lying in a ditch, wailing about her ruined dress. Just like Vaisey to give a nervous horse to a lady.

He manages to sooth the frightened animal just enough for it to follow him back and, just as expected, in the distance a young woman is slowly coming to stand, her back turned to him and the sunlight catching in her brown locks.

At least she could stand up on her own.

“My Lady?” He says, knowing that she must have heard the horses approaching but still not wanting to frighten her. She doesn’t appear to be hurt, but there’s dirt on her dress and still a stray leaf in her hair and he’s met enough women to know how fuzzy they can be about things like these.

She spins around and looks directly at him, squinting against the sun, before a delighted smile breaks out on her face.

“You caught the beast!” She triumphantly exclaims, slowly reaching out a hand for her lost animal to sniff at. “Thank-you so much – I would’ve never managed to do it alone.”

The horse seems to have forgiven her completely, lightly tripping forward and rubbing its muzzle against her fingers. Her smile gets even broader and her eyes glint in delight. She looks at him again and Guy becomes aware that he’s staring in what must come off as a completely rude fashion and that he has yet to speak again. Racking his brain for something, anything, she luckily beats him to it.

“My name is Marian Fitzwalter,” She says and this time, her smile is aimed only at him.

oOo

Fourth

Disappointed is one word you could use to describe his mood right now: but surprised isn’t.

That Marian would rather stay and fight, that she wouldn’t take the cowards way out, that she wouldn’t run away with him of all people – no, Guy isn’t really surprised that she didn’t accept his offer.

Her words echo through his head, the wood of the bridge clanging against the metal of his horse’s shoes. There’s an all-too knowing smile on Sir Jasper’s face and Guy has to fight the urge to punch him.

“And the woman – the Lady Marian, is she leaving with you?”

“No,” He says. The word feels like it is being ripped from his throat. “She will not abandon Nottingham.”

“Imbecile!”

Guy blinks against the sun, his horse neighing impatiently under him. “And without her… my world may as well turn to ash.”

Everything from there and until he’s looking at her face again is a blur and for the next minutes, all he’s aware of is his heart pounding and the solid, warm form beside him.

“There’s still time. You can still get away.” Please, just this once.

Of course she refuses and maybe it’s just as well, because he isn’t sure that he would be able to stand upright if she wasn’t there and it has little to do with the massive army getting ready to trample them all into the ground and more with the fact that her warmth is addictive and soothing and he wishes that they could live in this frightened, broken moment forever.

She grasps his hand just before the grand finale. Of course, it turns out to be not quite so grand after all and Guy isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or hit something, as the small, angry man that is Sheriff Vaisey yells at him, the army slowly retreating in the background.

So much for being heroic, he thinks, but his hand still feels warm several hours later and he knows what he would do, if given this choice again.

oOo

Fifth

The horror won’t leave him and his hands are still shaking, even after he’s declared to the Sheriff that he has caught the Nightwatchman. Actually, it’s not just his hands shaking, it feels like his entire body might start convulsing any minute now, or maybe his heart will just rip itself out of his chest, given time.

Strangely enough, the dreaded feeling of despair inside him has decidedly less to do with the ‘betrayal’ that keeps echoing inside his head and a lot more to do with… his hands.

They won’t stop shaking and he can’t stop staring at them. The gloves are off and the red blood is slowly tickling away, streaming over rough and worn fingers and palms. It shouldn’t be possible for someone to bleed this much.

Of course, it isn’t real and it’s not his blood. It’s Marian’s and he can see it as clearly as he did that night a year ago, the twisted knife hitting it’s mark like it always did.

Remember this, Nightwatchman?

He wonders what would have happened if they’d been married then. What he would have done when he’d seen the wound.

The blood starts dripping to the floor, his head spins and he thinks that he’s either going to be sick or bang his head against a hard, preferably uneven surface. Maybe he’ll hit hard enough for amnesia to settle in, and these last six years starting with the find of a frightened horse in a forest, will all just disappear.

He blinks and stares down at his hands, suddenly free from the blood, but still shaking. A knock on the door has interrupted his walk down hell-road and Allan pokes his head in.

Before the former outlaw can say anything, Guy has already moved.

“Come on,” He says, gripping the man’s shirt collar and yanking him along. “We need to go save Marian.”

His hands stop shaking when she’s safe again.

oOo

one

“Hood isn’t dead.”

The sentence hangs in the air, heavy and thick and with a mixture of surprise and happiness. At least she tries to hide how happy the news makes her, little comfort that it gives him.

“But the Sheriff said…” Marian slowly starts, her chain clanging slightly as she moves forward. “I mean…”

“They escaped. They’re here, in Acre. Now.”

It’s very akin to torture, watching the light that fills her eyes, seeing the life slowly return to her. She bites her lip and fumbles slightly, seating herself on the edge of the bed, the only furniture in the room.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m not sure.” Only, that’s a lie.

“Guy…” She lets the word hang in the air, drifting up there with the former silence. He moves forward, his mind taking a quick moment to revel in the fact that she doesn’t shy away from him, even when he’s this close.

The lock clicks with a loud sound, the manacles falling from her wrists and hitting the floor with a thud. The sound seems to reverberate through his skull, but he’s more aware of the soft sound of surprise that she utters, her eyes now on him.

“What are you doing?” She whispers, afraid that the wall has ears.

“Just go.” He says. “The stables are in the west-wing. You should be able to sneak out there. If you ride now, you can get to the king’s camp before Hood does.” Yes, very akin to torture. He feels like screaming and breaking something. Anything.

“But…”

“Marian, go!” He hisses between clenched teeth, standing up and glaring down at her. It’s easier if she’s to blame for all of this.

She leaves in a flurry of white and brown, the sunlight peeking in through the window and creating patterns on her skin. She kisses him first, though, and he’d like to think that it’s more of a thank-you than a goodbye, but he also knows that he has to stop fooling himself.

He’s never been good at the options life threw at him, but at least this once, Guy feels like he’s done the right thing.